I Still Love You, Rarity
by Poke-lover
Summary: When Equestria is overrun by a slow flesh eating, mind warping parasite, Sweetie Belle is forced to survive on her own for the longest time with only memories to keep her sane. Having finally returned to Ponyville thirteen years after the plague began its rampage across the land, Sweetie Belle must begin to make choices on how her life should go from now on.
1. Prologue

In my time alone in this world, I've learned the truth: Wherever you go, there will be some-pony who would love you. May it be a family member who loves you because you share the same thick, crimson blood running through your veins, or a friend who loves you because you share those deep, dark secrets that you would never share with any-pony else, or a stranger who loves you for the brain matter that spills out of your busted skull after it gets whacked hard enough, like that carnival game with the hammer and the bell...

I do love you Rarity.


	2. B1: Ch1: The Buildings

A dense, heavy, white fog floated about the crumbling buildings, covering them from sight like a predator hidden in the shadows. The gravel road crunched ominously under Sweetie Belle's slow-moving hooves as she journeyed onward, with no real goal in mind but to see her home again.

Knowing just how deadly this fog was, the unicorn mare wore a large gas mask with a special filter fitted over the breathing tube to keep the parasite out of her body. It made it harder to breathe, but that was for sure much better than losing her mind by far. To become a Host that needed to feed to keep the parasite in check: Sweetie couldn't even think of a worse way to live. To have your mind taken, but still be sentient throughout the experience as if it was her own thoughts. Only to fail and to see what your guts looked like when turned to blackened glass. What a way to die from what she'd seen of it, if she couldn't find any living creature, pony or not, her slimy innards and her increasingly appetizing flesh would be slowly devoured from the inside out, until nothing was left as the parasite multiplied to search for another body to use.

The predatory buildings suddenly loomed above, and looked more threatening closer up. Sweetie Belle had to stop for a moment before she could make herself to take another step. Apprehension held her back in its bony hands. How long had it been since she had last seen these buildings? When did she leave? What did it matter, she most likely hadn't been missed much from the looks of the emptiness of the land. She would've used a spell to make sure there wasn't anything around that would do her harm, but any unicorn inside the fog couldn't use magic at all. No pony has really taken the precious time to figure out the answer as to why that happened, since survival is a little more important than the sharing of unneeded knowledge.

For this, she carried a wooden, ring-handled pistol that would go around her hoof and could be fired with just a thought for it to do so. It had the charred initials W.L. branded into its maple surface and held a chilling reminder for Sweetie that this weapon probably hadn't been able to save its last owner, so she would only want to use it in dire situations. She had found it while salvaging in this one junk filled building building, and she had seen that it was good. Ponies had rarely used them in times before the plague. So rare in fact that Sweetie first saw one in Applejack's room under the mare's bed when the CMC was snooping around. She had only touched and held this one.

Keeping on edge, and using her eyes as a personal forward radar, she scanned her surroundings as she walked down the empty street that would either lead to her temporary safety or her eternal again, no pony would miss her: in fact, she probably wouldn't miss herself either, if she wasn't in this body. The Celestial Body sounded mighty nice right now. To just end it all. The mask felt uncomfortable, strapped tightly to her face, and that added assurance that kept her mind awake.

It wasn't until Sweetie had reached the center of town did she have a more detailed look at the twisted remains of her childhood's home. They looked even more threatening with the crudely boarded up doors and windows with pieces of worn plywood and rusty nails, and the uncared for planks on the wood-paneled walls were slowly falling apart to reveal the the rotten, bug eaten internal skeleton underneath the once detailed architecture. In the very middle, surrounded by the faded past, was the twisted remains of a once tall and proud clock tower and town hall, now a crumbled heap that stood barely higher than the buildings around it. The bronze clock, probably one of the oldest things in Ponyville, was now rusted, fallen and broken in half with springs and wires all around it. It was such a depressing sight to see for Sweetie Belle, as she rubbed her hoof over the time worn metal and felt its chipped roughness.

The mare walked on further, ever vigilant with her eyes and her ears pointed towards the fog. The sun behind the clouds was high in the sky as always, but it still felt cool and damp in the fog, as if the fog was trying to trick her into thinking that it was normal. It didn't help that Ponyville was nowhere near a coast line.

Across where the town hall was, the dead tree branches of the Golden Oaks Library were bare of the green leaves that once flourished on the hollowed tree. Seeing it, Sweetie couldn't help but smile with the corners of her mouth just barely moving up at the memory of learning her first magic spell there and the happiness it had brought her... and the life saving strategies it gave her.

She realized that she had once lived on this street as could just make out her old home in the distance. Slowly moving forward, she began to approach the building's features. The peeling blue paint still gave a vibrant look to the walls-much better than the rest of the still standing buildings- and the large glass windows were shattered, open with jagged teeth ready for her. Even though it was still just as rotten as the other buildings, it still held somewhat of a homely feeling. Guess Rarity had known what she was doing when she, according to her parents, designed the building, but Sweetie was too young to remember this.

She heard the distant crunch of the gravel road from behind her, but years of honing her skills in stealth and lying had made her a mare of almost stone, so she didn't flinch her limbs and muscles or instinctively twitch her ears to hear the sound better. It sounded slow, almost like her own movements were being recorded and played back. They had a stealthy quality to them. If Sweetie hadn't been listening to the silence around her, she would've missed them. Whoever this was, was no fool...possibly not one of them, but you could never really be sure until their yellowed teeth were ripping into your soft flesh and slurping your blood like a milkshake. You would never know until the parasite's hunger began to take its toll on it's host's body.

They were coming at an angle, almost like the owner was slowly circling around her. Were they playing with her or were they testing to see what she would do. Out of the corner of her eye, Sweetie saw turquoise.

The mare's breathing uncomfortably stopped in her throat like a plug, and a small bead of sweat tickled along her brow as it trickled down her forehead. She knew who this was, back when she lived in Ponyville... Yeah, the one who would rave about the mythical creatures known as humans, or something like that.

"Lyra?" Sweetie spoke softly, half fearing that some pony she knew was one of them. Her voice pushed up the plug in her throat; it felt dry.

"I thought you were a Host...Was going to take you out with this stake to your heart...but I see you're not." Sweetie saw the weapon. But how would've Lyra been able to use it without magic in the fog? "But I do suggest you get yourself some shelter soon, the fog is about to get much worse."

The warning didn't seem right to Sweetie. No heart, just words. Other than hygiene, from the looks of the uncut, tangled hair and mane that almost completely covered her eyes, Lyra wasn't acting like a pony. More on edge than ever, Sweetie kept her eyes on the mare who stood there, looking back at her before she gave giving a single "hmm" and just walked back into the fog. Sweetie watched her go until her eyes couldn't make out the mare's figure past the sheet, but she didn't move until the gravel hoof steps could be heard no more.

While the mare was being suspiciously creepy and dramatic, she was right...She needed to get to shelter underground fast. She turned back to the Carousel Boutique.


	3. B1: Ch2: Carousel Boutique

Grey dust had gathered all over the remains of the busted furniture and torn fabrics and curtains. They seemed to glow when the last faint traces of sunlight made it through the fog, to gently shine in through the broken window that adorned the front of the building.

While the mask protected her from the parasite right now, the musty, pungent smell of mildew filled her nostrils Sweetie walked into the old shop of memories and closed the squeaky door behind her.

Other than the look of utter abandonment, nothing had really changed, as the building still somewhat held a homely feel to it. Except for what Sweetie saw in the corner of the boutique, and she had to resist the urge to book it out the door right then. Those damn, creepy, plastic colticans were still placed there like they always had been when she had lived here. She didn't like them then and she had never gotten any better: if anything, her fear of them had maybe gotten a little worse. Unfortunately, the magenta curtain that had usually concealed them had fallen from neglect and bugs, and was now draped over one of the non-ponies that wished they were so. Sweetie shivered and decided to look somewhere else.

In the opposite corner was the metal borders of the mirrors that once customers would use to look all over themselves in their new attire that was meant to hide their disgusting skin and pelt. Sweetie had used them for the same reasons, too, so she wasn't without fault, the mare reminded herself. Rarity had always hated it when she would get into any clothes left discarded and played dress-up in them: she would get hilariously over dramatic about it. Hmmm. Yeah, those were the days.

Broken shards of the mirrors laid scattered all over the floor in front and around the table there...Some pony must've smashed them from the looks of them. Because, from her experiences with mirrors, they only shattered when force has been applied to them. Heh, listen to that, she sounded like Twilight.

Between these was the indigo stairs that led up to the bedrooms on the second floor. Sweetie quickly walked at an almost jog so she wouldn't drown in the overflowing memories, as well as to get past those eerie colticons. Stay away, Sweetie, stay away. She stalked her way up the stairs.

Her bedroom was first on the left. She rambled over in a dream-like state on overload to the things that had long since been buried in deep graves with no headstones. The door was on the floor, fallen off its hinges with a large gash down the center, as if somepony had kicked it hard. What was with ponies and destroying things in this home? Oh, the latch where the door once closed was broken from force. The wooden frame of the door where the lock was smashed. The lock itself was turned outward, which explained why it was kicked.

Not much light made it into the dim room. The window had been boarded up, except for a tiny sliver of light at the top. This was interesting to Sweetie, the boards were neatly hammered up, Rarity must've done it, she always loved doing things with grace and perfection, even if it would make the job that much more difficult. Numbers were drawn in along the ends of all the boards like a ruler to where the nails were to be lodged in and straight lines were all over. Yep, Rarity. Hehe, even in defense, she would take the sweetest time to make sure it looked good, and boy did this look good.

Sweetie carefully stepped over the door into the room. To her confusion, there was no dust or decay anywhere compared to the rest of the home. Only a few things were thrown around, like the same pony had gone through everything rather quickly for anything they may have needed.

On her old bed, the original covers still laid out over it, including a quilt was folded neatly upon the untouched covers, much too small for her and covered with a checkered pattern of diamonds in many warm, bright colors: red, yellow, lime green, and many more than Sweetie could possibly think of in her world of grey. It had been so long since real color caught her eye, and it was good.

Everything was sewn into each part of the fabric so professionally, and it was so beautiful. She carefully stroked the glorious piece of artwork, feeling its soft cotton comfort shoot up her foreleg. At least for once, she didn't feel in danger of a slow, and most likely painful, death. She couldn't bring herself to get away from this wonderful feeling. It was almost...intimate.

Sweetie didn't care how much time had passed before she pulled away from the quilt. The large saddlebags that laid across her back weren't very heavy, so Sweetie gently picked the blanket up and placed it in her left saddlebag to bring along. She continued her past-marry-present journey of memories and nostalgia.

Next to the bed was a closet with a rolling door covering it, painted the same color as the walls around her... white. She remembered how much she loved the color, going so far as to refuse any ice cream that wasn't vanilla. Her mouth watered at the thought of ice cream, that creamy frozen treat that would revolt if you enjoyed it too fast and too much, like it hated going away so quickly. What would she do to feel a brain freeze tear apart her skull, mmmm...non-violently of course. Sweetie swatted the thought of death away.

Remember, happy thoughts. The adventures of the Cutie Mark Crusaders. Yeah...

Rolling the door open with a careful slid of a hoof, Sweetie only found a small wooden chair. Its color was obscured by the dimness of the room, and the near complete darkness of the closet. The carved letters painted bright yellow on the back rest could still be read through the created night: Mr. Teddy. Her bear...her first friend. Was he here? It would be great to have him back. To snuggle with and to love, completely platonic of course, although she had no idea what he would do if he didn't approve. Haha, what was she thinking? Mr. Teddy wasn't alive, he was just a stuffed bear... but she still missed him now that her mind was on him.

She frantically stuck her head into the closet and looked around for her friend, but she couldn't see anything through the darkness. She reached into the saddlebag with her mouth and pulled out a flashlight, which she proceeded to click on to brighten the darkness. Wow, maybe she needed a flashlight for her brain. Looking back inside the closet, to her complete disappointment, the interior was completely cleaned out. No bear.

Sweetie felt her ears involuntarily fold down as a strange sad feeling overcame her. Depression? Everything felt hopeless suddenly, and with no apparent cause. She needed to get away from the memories, she obviously couldn't handle them as expertly as she thought she would be able to. What lies is this!? Damn youth! She wandered away out of the room of the past, and back into the hallway of the present. That chair was dangerous to her mental health, as thrown up as it was. Revolting thought puke was. But the spores, like a parasite, had already spread throughout her body.

Rarity's room was next. But Sweetie felt anticipation towards its door, another fear of a portal to the distant past to bring about tears that the mare had to keep down silently, and she didn't know if she could handle it anymore. Yet, no pony would get anything done if they let fear take them over. It was overcoming fear that Equestria had been founded on and created by. Fear was normal, especially in this world now, you just had to be more afraid of not overcoming it.

The door never squeaked as she pushed it open. It was well oiled after this time? Just like her own room, Rarity's was dark, wooden boards were covering the window. But there was a hint of sloppiness that wasn't present in the boards of her own. Even the wood used wasn't the best that could've been used. It made Sweetie wonder if Rarity had locked her room to leave it like a memorial... no, that sounded creepy. More like to keep it the same for her little sister's return: something that hadn't happened until now

No, just keep away from memory, away from the past. The past was NOT friendly. Ponies using ponies. No neighborly attitude. But the memory overtook her mind with ease.

A filly Sweetie Belle stood next to her older sister at the train station platform, with tears threatening to mess up the annoying mascara that Rarity had forced her to wear at her own displeasure. So many ponies were congratulating her on going off to get a higher education, but why would anypony want to congratulate another on their unhappiness? She was going to be just like Rarity, they say, and Sweetie noticed that many stallions were looking at her sister with a strange glare, unknown to her pre-adolescent mind. Just like Rarity, they say.

The filly felt unready for this, unwilling, as she turned back towards the town that she would have to leave for so long. Her best friends, and fellow Cutie Mark Crusaders, Applebloom and Scootaloo stood further back to watch her go off. Rarity's friends, the ones she would go to for advice, mostly bad advice, were beyond the platform with ranged expression from happiness, to sadness, to pride, and to indifference.

Looking back to her friends, she noticed that even Scoots was having a difficult time keeping the tears at bay, and Sweetie couldn't blame her or Applebloom. They were a team, they stuck together through whatever came their way. Now, that team would be missing one of their own, and that made the goodbyes so much more difficult to say.

She couldn't do it! Not now! Sweetie frantically leapt from her sister's side and galloped over to her surprised friends before tackling them into a big bear hug, refusing to let go. The others had the same idea. Sweetie felt her tears finally wet her cheeks as the same thing happened to the others. The sound of a far off train whistle wailed the call of the banshee, coming closer. Killer of youthful happiness. Sweetie just couldn't and didn't want to leave.

Sweetie felt a hoof carefully and calmly pat her on the back comfortingly. She say Rarity was looking down at her, smiling warmly. "It's alright Sweetie, you can say your goodbyes, though I'm going to have to redo your make up on the train: need to make a good impression on the school administrators. You'll be able to see them whenever they can visit. I'll even close up the shop and and bring them down there myself if I must."

"We'll miss ya, Sweetie Belle. Ah'll visit ya as much as Ah can." Applebloom smiled a forced smile through the tears.

"Yeah, me too. And write to us and tell us how awesome it is down there, you better not forget. Though, I don't see any reason for school to be awesome. I mean, come on, it's school." Scootaloo rambled a bit there before the trio gave one last hug as the train whistle came closer.

The haunting cry if a siren brought Sweetie out of her daydream. The wailing message whirled around her, warning her that the parasite fog was getting so thick that even the mask she wore wouldn't work properly, and thus fail to protect her against the massive amounts of spores in the air. She needed to quickly get herself out of the fog, or underground. Thankfully, the building had a basement where Rarity had always stored the unused supplies. If it was unlocked, that was: she mentally kicked herself for not checking when she had the chance.

By the time Sweetie had made her way out of the shop and home and around the building, the siren had finished its call and the silence of the wind could only be heard. Oh thank you Rarity! She had left it unlocked, as if she'd known that Sweetie was going to return and would need shelter. Sweetie smiled faintly in the mask. Pulling the metal doors open, Sweetie scrambled inside to shut the hatch behind her to keep as much of the parasite out as much as possible. It was very dark, and the place still reeked of blood down here.


	4. B1: Ch3: Underground

The darkness had a hold of everything, and the rusty iron smell filled the air around her with putrid memories, like it had infected the entire underground room. The green glow of Sweetie's magic scared the darkness away to illuminate the water-stained cement walls. Where was the sickly smell of death coming from? There was no blood anywhere, yet the constant smell of it flooded her nostrils. Maybe it really was a memory. The smell disappeared, leaving only mildew. What a day of those, Sweetie was starting to feel sick from all these memories. Maybe coming back to Ponyville wasn't worth it all.

The distressed mare walked further into the underground room until Sweetie became aware of shapes sitting on a jumbled pile. Boxes and equipment such as sewing machines lay about in an organized fashion, like everything else about the building. What really caught Sweetie's attention was a mirror sitting untouched in a corner. Was it crying like a foal on time out in the corner?

Before she could do anything else, she ruffled through her bag and carefully pulled out what looked like a simple coffee can with no label covering the thin metal sides, which it was. She she twisted the top off, oh so gently, and gave it a sniff to test and see if it was going to work. She jerked away, crinkling her nose in disgust, as the sickening smell of rotten meat made her eyes water a bit. Yep, it'll work. Fully opening the can, she placed it in the middle of the room and took a step back, not taking her eyes off the trap of her own creation.

The trap didn't take long to begin working, as she saw the edges of the rotten meat begin to slowly disintegrate by what only looked like air. But just as quickly as it had started, it ended with the rotten meat being only a fraction of what it was by quite an amount...Hey, ponies could be useful! Through the mask she wore, Sweetie Belle smiled like a little foal on Hearth's Warming Eve at her ingenious device. She had poisoned the meat with an herb that she noticed killed off the parasite...trial and error was how she knew.

She almost pranced back over to the can and carefully screwed the lid back on. She gingerly returned it to her saddlebag. The biggest problem with the trap was that it left such a disgusting smell in the air, as if she was having sex with Celestia herself with how old she was, if she wasn't dead. The bucking shrew...no not that word, she can't say that word...Oh well...buck, buck, buckity, buck, buck, buck. No pony was around to hear her anyway!

It should be safe enough to take off her mask...it was safe. If there were any parasites left, there would be too few to really affect her...trial and error. She unbuckled the strap that held the breathing tool, apparatus, whatever it was... the important thing. It struck the ground with a plastic sound, and Sweetie took a deep breath in. Such freedom. Can't school teach such a concept? Freedom?

Sweetie felt the prickling feeling of the hairs at the base of her tail, she knew that damn mirror was right behind her. Was it silently calling her name on the breath of the wind to the past? It better not be. Curiousity was a strange thing, though she was somewhat uninterested with how she looked. She had seen her reflection in a pond she had passed on her way here from Canterlot. Well, thankfully she wasn't a cat, because Sweetie allowed herself to turn around and see.

Sweetie's vision blurred a bit from the first of many salty tears, but it unfortunately wasn't enough to block out the image that Sweetie saw. The sorry sight that was of her maneless head, shining against the glow of her magic. Protection? She looked terrible! Though just a bit safer.

She felt the exhaustion of overusing her magic beginning to affect her. She felt so drained. But thankfully, she was prepared, but needed to get her priorities straight. Reaching into her saddlebag...then she stopped. She kept having to reach behind her to get something, why couldn't she take the saddlebag off of her back and lay it down on the floor?

The magical light from her horn began to flicker like a flashlight running low on batteries. She carefully sat her saddlebag on the dusty cement floor. She wouldn't be able to hold the flashlight, so she used the next best thing. She pulled a lantern out with her mouth and clicked the switch on the side to have the light burst from the center, partially blinding Sweetie with black spots in her vision from stupidly staring at it. The room seemed much larger now and the creepy shapes from the boxes weren't so creepy anymore.

Sweetie could still hear the childish call of the mirror. Why did she have to see herself? But she turned around anyway. So mentally weak.

Dark-greyish-blue rings encircled her still bright emerald-green eyes with large bags that told the tale of many sleepless nights, spent watching the ring of darkness around her for signs of movement. "RUN SWEETIE RUN!" A female's voice from her past called into the present, threatening Sweetie...Deep breath, happy thought.

A large pink scar ran across her neck from ear to ear. Okay! That was enough of looking. Was that the fear of seeing them or just the fear of remembering? She wanted to learn from her past, but the past was too scary to look at.

Sweetie raised her eyes to notice from the first time to her utter horror that spiders and their silk webs dotted the ceiling and walls. The cracks and crevices made perfect homes. Beautiful things webs were, especially when heavy with dew that made them look like they were decorated with crystals, but spiders deserved to die! Their eight legs and large eyes, aliens more like it. They just better stay away as she slept.

Speaking of sleep, Sweetie felt the exhaustion start to creep around. She slowly walked over to her bag for one last time and pulled out the folded quilt. She carefully unfolded it out of a complete respect for the work of art. Taking another look at the beautiful blanket, Sweetie noticed a strange pattern on the inside that she wouldn't have been able to see with the fabric folded up. A message? From Rarity?

Within the creative amounts of colors and shapes, Sweetie could see that the colors made words...a deep, connecting message that made Sweetie's heart jump. It was almost like she could hear her sister's voice talk to her. "I Love You, Sweetie Belle."

Sweetie felt like a foal once again as she pulled as much of the quilt as she could around her body in her forelimbs in a hug. A warm, comfortable hug. She closed her eyes and sighed a deep, comforted sigh.

She whispered, "I love you too, Rarity."


	5. B1: Ch4: Lyra

The tall buildings of Canterlot made Sweetie feel even smaller than she normally did in Ponyville. She couldn't help but gasp in wonderment and curiosity at how everything was so much faster moving than out in the country environment. She couldn't say that she hated that idea of not slowing down; she didn't like the idea of having to learn to follow in their hoof-steps for the next two years. Everything was so ear-splittingly loud; the roar of the manticore was drowned out by the mess of sound. Everything Sweetie could smell was dirty or stinky, nothing fresh. She had witnessed a pedestrian pony almost get struck by a wagon going too fast to stop properly. After that, she didn't want to leave Rarity's constantly moving side. She was talking excessively about the shops that she knew or had been to, but why would Sweetie want to listen to her going on about that? Only a few pieces of information were really needed.

"And this is the school that you would be attending for your higher studies. Well, what do you think?" Rarity's voice cut through the clouds of the daydream with ease with its shrillness. For once, Sweetie was beginning to see how annoying that voice could be. It no longer brought up a feeling of joy, but instead brought up resentment. Maybe Sweetie was silent throughout the trip up here past Ponyville train station, but harsh words rocketed through her mind with how much betrayal she was feeling now.

"I think this place is dangerous. Didn't you see that pony almost get hit by that wagon?" Sweetie asked her sister in a tone that was between a child's quality and dark, gritty anger.

"Oh, that happens all the time. Maybe ponies should watch where they are going. I better not find you in the hospital after such an accident." Rarity shrugged off Sweetie's question.

Was that all she had to say? Did lives even mean anything to Rarity?

Sweetie looked up at her new school and was appalled by what she saw. No wood, barely any windows allowed light to filter inside. "It looks like a prison."

Rarity obviously didn't like that comment from the skunk eye Sweetie saw out of the corner of her eye.

BANG, BANG, BANG!

The echoing sound of metal being struck interrupted the dream. Why would some pony want to bang on that metal hatch? Hitting that with such force could hurt them. Maybe break a few bones before she got to them for waking her up. Of course, after she had hugged them with a passion for getting her out of that horrifying memory pile of rotten vegetables. Dreamswere very evil. In this world, everything could be pretty much evil. Maybe that was why she wanted to break this pony's hoof for waking her up from an evil dream. They were just being evil too. Right?

BANG! BANG! BANG!

From the sound of the frantic pounding, they were in a hurry. Maybe she should take a bit more time to prove to them that they could wait a few seconds for her to get over to the door and open it. But she couldn't do that; it would be mean. Unless it was an infected, then she could smash the door into their necks, cracking the vertebrae and see them die right there on the spot. Though that might be a bit quick for them to go.

But they were still sentient ponies, so was thinking this way even right?

Sweetie didn't notice that she was moving towards the door absentmindedly. Well, that was a way to choose what to do next, congrats to involuntary movement.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

"Shut up!" she shouted at the door. She had to stop herself from taking another step. What about her mask? Maybe the parasite fog was still out there and this pony wanted her to make a morning stupor mistake. Well, she was too smart for that. She used her magic to bring the lifesaver over to her and to strap it onto her face.

BANG! BANG!

Sweetie had no idea what she would do if they struck that door one more time. Sweetie thought about what punishment would fit the annoyance of this. Why would it even have to be something with death? To everypony else it was only about death and survival. Didn't they find the irony in that? She grabbed the hoof pistol while she thought about punishment.

She marched over to the doorway and threw it open in a blind anger. "What!?" She shouted in Lyra's face. The green mare seemed unaware of Sweetie's anger, and she continued banging on the now open door. BANG! BANG! BANG! Sweetie could feel her blood pressure rising and was betting on how much steam was whistling out of her ears.

Then she heard the strange humming of Lyra laughing. It wasn't a happy laugh, but one that was scraped dry like the sand on the beach. It was…just dry. "You get angry far too quickly, Sweetie. That could cause you to lose sight of the goal that's right in front of your muzzle." Lyra spoke like a mare teaching to her foal the values of life. How young did Lyra think she was? "Why are you still wearing that mask? You haven't realized it yet, but I'm standing outside without one. The fog has moved on to look for other ponies, so it's safe to take that off. Unless it's a new fashion statement; I haven't been keeping up on the latest fads after the first time I almost got eaten."

No, Sweetie had never noticed that. And she was the one who paid attention to details and her surroundings. Good going, smart one.

Lyra curled her brow as she shook her head. "How did you even survive walking all the way to Ponyville from Canterlot? It was Canterlot you were sent to, right? That school that wasn't as good as the one that Celestia had started. Oh well, I can't remember."

Oh, what a punch to face, and Sweetie felt it alright. Maybe she should fire the gun nonchalantly at the mare's hoof…Click…nope, it was out of bullets.

"And then you allow your anger to, once again, control your actions and thoughts to try and shoot me in the hoof, right? I heard that click and it revealed another mistake of yours. You just showed me that you have no ammo to protect yourself. I also see that you have no melee weapon, and I do," She showed Sweetie that same long piece of wood she had seen yesterday. "You would be in a pickle if I was infected."

Sweetie couldn't hold back the boiling hot question that she felt she had to say to try and get the information. "Why are you acting like a master of survival, and treating me like a foal?" She had not been here even a day and Lyra was acting like she was the queen of the town. Was she really and master of survival, or the fool in a costume?

She could see Lyra's eyes just cloud over and her body language started to become more rapid like she couldn't stay still: maybe she had something stuck to the bottom of her foot. It was an awkward silence for a while before the green mare said anything in the form of a question back to Sweetie. "Do you know anything about sacrifice?"

What type of question was that? "Yeah I do. I've watched my best friend die right in front of me…"

"That's not sacrifice, that is loss." Lyra interrupted Sweetie. "Maybe you haven't had to choose to let somepony you care about become infected because of a mistake you, yourself, made. With loss, you had no place to choose. Which do you think is more difficult to live with?" Lyra brought her forelimb up onto Sweetie's shoulder. SKIN! Sweetie promptly jumped from under her caress. Lyra was obviously confused but none-the-less let it go. "You are still young. Thirteen years can come and go so fast. I am getting older and older, while you're still young and beautiful. When I first saw you come into town. I could believe that I could help you get in the right direction."

"I don't need another Rarity." Sweetie promptly said. No one could take her place. But she betrayed her. What was the right thinking for this? Was Rarity a good sister or not?

"Of course. But think of me as not Rarity, but as Lyra." Lyra gave another forced creepy smile.


	6. B1: Ch5: Ne'er-do-wells

Sweetie followed Lyra into a small garden that she knew had once been full of blooming red roses and delicious vegetables. Now all that remained were the yellow thorns and disgusting vines that had overgrown everywhere and crunched greasily under the pair's hooves. The mare turned to face the fresher of the pair, as her eyes became as dead as the past's roses. "Do you remember Carrot Top?" She asked, almost with a bit of anger tied into her words.

Lyra's changing attitude was beginning to worry Sweetie with the tips and the angry rants and questions on what she remembered from the town's long gone past life. Why would the past come back every time they went seeking it? Was it because she was seeking it with a closed hoof to what information was being given, or was it because it was seeking her, and by seeking it at the same time, it was making her easier to find.

Sweetie thought hard about that, worried about how Lyra had said it. Her tone was once again cold and menacing with no real motive behind it. Could it be a river? "I kinda remember I would sometimes see a mare with an orange fuzzy mane in town. I never really talked to many ponies in town when the CMC were out and about."

"Ah yes, your little club that you had with Applejack's little sister and that homeless pegasus." Lyra looked at the dead flowers like they held the answer to all that was good in this world.

How could she say that about Scoots, she had been a glorious friend when Sweetie needed one. Had she ever been this angry at one pony at a single time so quickly? She could only think of one other time, back at school. But that was for another day.

"Hey, Scootaloo was much more than an orphan! She was a friend, and a much better one than you could possibly hope to be with that attitude!" She had to be right about that. It was much too simple to believe that she wasn't.

"Perhaps, but that doesn't change the fact that she was homeless. You just cemented my statement of her being homeless by saying that she was an orphan. Your argument went against what you wanted, so what was the point of arguing to begin with? Also, I have no wish to make friends, since everypony I know is dead…with exceptions. We really need to work on your anger because it's starting to get a little annoying." She turned back to the rose bushes and began to shift through them with her hoof, the thorns cutting deep into the flesh, and Sweetie could see the blood was oozing out and surrounding the limb like the vines covering the ground.

How could Lyra not have a shred of care about anything... and by the look of it, herself including. It was like she was a dead star, ready to explode or flake off into the abyss. The major question for Sweetie was whether she was going to flake off or explode?

"Are you just going to stand there or am I just going to get home myself? Even with no fog, the prospect of getting jumped by ne'er-do-wells is higher when the fog isn't here to protect us against them." Lyra continued on after she had pulled her forelimb from the bush without even wincing, continued on as if nothing happened. Sweetie didn't feel like asking if she was okay, and was kind of hoping that she would get an infection and die. Or maybe get a parasite in her so Sweetie would have an excuse to cut off her head.

"Ne'er-do-wells?" Sweetie asked Lyra, curiosity filling her voice for some reason. That statement for some reason, made a made Sweetie's ears prick up. Was she still angry?

"Yes. They are the ones who have banded together to take what is not theirs and kill those who are not a part of them or if they are bored. To me, they are a bunch of pricks who deserve to all die in a vat of cooking oil, or staked over a nice warm fire to cook, and have ourselves a barbeque."

From behind Lyra's back, Sweetie's eyes widened and her heart quickened. Maybe she should keep on her hooves around Lyra. "Why would they do that?" She decided not to question why Lyra had said that, but not letting get far from memory.

"Who knows? Let's just get back inside before they show up, and believe me, they will show up at some time." Sweetie couldn't disagree with that logic.

Lyra directed Sweetie into a rickety shack that was falling apart at the edge of town. Underneath a pile of old tarps, tool boxes, and gardening equipment, she lifted a metal trapdoor that revealed a ladder going down into a dark, cavernous room. To Sweetie, it didn't have the feel of just a hole in the ground, but something more.

"Is this your humble abode?" She asked to Lyra, who didn't answer. Instead, she unleashed her golden colored magic with its normal sparkling glow, and the room flashed with light. Craning her head, Sweetie saw a large fire in the center of the room. "How do you have that without suffocating from the smoke?" Wonderment like a child came back to her with the prospect of learning something new.

"Look up and see for yourself. You can't always ask some pony and expect to get an answer every time. You should look around and figure it out on your own. Only when the answer is not so obvious should you ask for an explanation. And even then, you might not even like the answer." Lyra never looked at Sweetie throughout that whole lecture. She only laid down on a pillow on top of a smooth rock that stuck out from the walls. "But to answer your question from before," She continued. "Yes, this is the rotten stink-hole of a home. It's connected to the town's sewer system, so don't go traveling through the dark halls, for I fear that you may not come back."

"It doesn't stink down here as much as it should be." Sweetie snuck in a little conversation to try and lighten the mood that hung around Lyra. She could almost see a strange change in the mare's eyes when she had some pony to talk to.

"I found some cement in the work shack above and sealed the way up."

"Then, what was the use of telling me not to go off into the tunnels?"

"I remember back to how you three were. I would have to tell you not to light a match after some pony farts, and then watch to make sure you wouldn't do it."

"You do realize that thirteen years have passed. Most likely I would be a new mare. Especially after thirteen years of what has been going on out there."

Lyra played with a small rock in the dirt of the floor. "I don't know. I would only talk to you when you three would come into Bon-Bon's candy shop."

That reminded Sweetie that she had not seen Bon-Bon at all. The two had used to be inseparable. Now Lyra has not even said a word about the mare. "Where is Bon-Bon anyway?"

Lyra's eyes shifted back to their original mood once again, and Sweetie knew that she had said something wrong. There was that nervous pause that followed that made the wait on the mare's reaction and atmosphere even worse. Down here, and alone. No pony would miss her if Lyra decided that Sweetie needed to be silenced. "The Bon-Bon I know is gone, don't ever bring it up again."

Sweetie decided that it was best that she changed the subject. "So, what are we waiting for?"

"I didn't tell you? Oh, silly me. We are waiting for those ne'er-do-wells to leave. I have it down to a system of what time they come in and what time they leave. I am always right. Their leader is very punctual and concise."

Very punctual and concise…why did that stand out to Sweetie so much? It was like another memory, but this one was only sound. "Sweetie Belle…" The memory said. Could they be calling her name to the ticking of her life's clock? Was she to die?

"Are they the type of ponies that would throw a crowbar at another's face to see it stick in their eye to watch it bleed out before silencing them for good with a snapped vertebrae?" For some reason, Sweetie always liked the sound of vertebrae snapping. Maybe it was purely the sound, or it could be the fact of making sure that the enemy…other pony…was dead and then she knew for sure that she was safe. Maybe…

"Oh yes," It sounded like she had an orgasm right there. Her voice was breathy and it wavered from strength to a weakness. "They would do that and so much more. But it wouldn't be as much fun if it was done to you, so I would keep out of their way. I've found a friend for the first time in so long and I wouldn't want to lose her yet."

Sweetie blinked at the green mare, who had rolled over onto her back was sticking her legs up in the air and slowly rocking back and forth. She is a crazy one, but Sweetie felt that she could kind of relate to Lyra. "You think of me as a friend?" Her heart fluttered and beat faster from more blood circulating. Was Lyra a friend? Like a real friend? One that had your back through the thick and thin?

Lyra took her usual sweet time to answer a question. "Somewhat. Though I could kill you later and feed you to the timberwolves. I don't know. You want a drink? I think I might have some fermented fruit in the back there."

"I think I might just do that. Where would I find it?"

"Ummm." Lyra, for once, looked a little scared like something was going to go wrong. "J-Just let me get it myself. Like I said, don't want you getting lost out there."

Lyra left Sweetie alone. She was once again worried about Lyra and her changing moods. She looked and saw a large pipe sticking out from the rock and she could see the smoke from the burning fire being sucked into the tube and out of the room.


	7. B1: Ch6: Into the Woods

Sweetie was just laying on the rocky dirt floor after a nice drink from a bottle of courage, and she was in immediate bliss and relaxation, with a bubbly warm feeling running through her. This is the life she had come into. For once, she didn't care about the infection, or the thought of an unpleasant death possibly waiting around the next corner, as time ticked ever onwards. How wonderful that nothing bad could happen, like her brain splattering against the wall by a piece of wood a lot like Lyra's!

A pounding kick from what felt like a hoof pushed this happy moment out of sight but not out of mind, for Sweetie refused to let that happen. Way too much has gone to be let go against the wind of something. Sweetie was just confusing herself now, so she stopped while she was semi-ahead.

Rolling onto her back, with the small pebbles and rock of the floor now digging uncomfortably into her back, Sweetie could see that crazy Lyra looking down at her with a scornful look on her face. The pyre crackled, its light and heat above them so beautifully; it was like looking into the face of a painting of autumn. The dreamy leaves floating down to the forest floor, falling from the trees in a slow dance and other leaves doing the exact same thing as it had done.

Sweetie's eyes drew back to that look on Lyra's unmoving face and she didn't really like it at all, so she imagined that Lyra was wearing some clown costume. Lyra's mane suddenly poofed up into an afro and swerved colors of rainbowness like paint into its curls. Upon her muzzle, where her nostrils were, a tomato red nose grew out of the nothing that had previously dominated her facial features. Her turquoise fur now was covered in a fine white powder that looked like what mares had once used to put on their lady folds so they wouldn't smell like fish when they were in heat. Colts and stallions liked that a lot more than when they didn't. What pricks. Not much she could do about that now. They didn't even know what it felt like to feel that burning sensation in their nethers. What a horrible time that was! A polka dotted flannel one-piece covered the rest of her body, and the Lyra Clown was created, and it still didn't look much better than the original. But that scowl ruined it all. Darn imagination, not fixing what was really wrong. Might as well figure out what Miss Heavyface wants.

"You confused or something? Because you're just standing there, and that must be pretty boring."

Lyra's eyebrow rose as her bottom lip continued to stick a bit outwards without her head moving at all. In a way, she looked taller from the point of view Sweetie had. "We need to go scavenging for food, since I'm almost out."

Go out? Why not stay in? Those bottles of fermented apple juice were so good. Maybe they could live off that? "I don't wanna." Sweetie rolled back over onto her face to try and fall back into her dream state.

"Some pony drank a bit too much, hadn't they? But how could that be, she's only had one bottle and it's only been an hour. Some pony's buzzin' and a lightweight." Sweetie heard that mocking tome and didn't like it.

With a kick of her back leg, Sweetie felt her hoof connect with Lyra's own limb with a satisfying 'ooph' of surprise and a bit of blunt pain that was followed by the crashing sound of a body to the dirt she had been standing on only a moment before. Calm and collected, Sweetie got up from the ground to take Lyra's place by standing above the other while still out of reach of retaliation. "I haven't had much experience with alcohol before, seeing as how I've been on the road for the past twelve years." She stretched her cramping back muscles loose with a pop like a jailbreak.

Sweetie turned back to the fallen mare's groaning as she got up out of the dust. Without even dusting herself off, Lyra spoke with not even a hint of anger in her voice and not a blemish from her lack of emotion to something more unsuspicious. "Well, it may just be safer to drink the alcohol than the water. I've never heard of a pony lasting forever without a bite to eat or at least seeing two inches in front of your face. Now get up and forget the drink." She chuckled. "I sound like a mother. Buck you for that Sweetie! Buck you up the mare cuddler hooper hoover!"

Weird vocabulary much? Mare cuddler? Some pony's world smelled of fish. But Sweetie didn't really feel up to doing what she said because she kept changing her attitude every half a second. But to fight with a fire you need water, because more fire would just make it bigger, and if Lyra got bigger...

After so much time in fear, she had felt the safety of peace. Oh, that buzz was ending so fast now. It was going away and never coming back. Call it a bucking SISTER, MAYBE THAT WOULD MAKE MORE SENSE! But her mind had still slowed down and she was aware of it through the blood dripping down the walls into her eyes, yet Rarity could still not be seen. "How much food is left?" She asked, feeling the claustrophobic feeling of apprehension. How sick was she to have felt another feeling? And the feeling having to keep on her hooves around Lyra chiseled the bars even further. Was it because the green mare was right behind her? Or was it that Sweetie could be feeling some fear of what the mare could actually do? Sweetie didn't know, but Sweetie was going to figure it out. Yes.

"From what I've seen, I only have enough food for one pony." Suddenly Sweetie felt hooves on the back of her spine and instinctively tensed up her muscles, almost like second nature to her. Disgusting. Touch. Somepony. Hyperventilation. Lubrication. Stillwater. Grace! Off! NOW! Her breathing quickened through her lungs before she squirmed like a fish out of water out from under the touch that almost felt like rape to her. Safety.

"Well." Sweetie worked to get her thoughts right again, and to compose herself in the best and most mature way possible. If that pony touched her again, she wouldn't feel sorry offing her through a nice sharp rock on the end of a stick shoved deep into her bleeding out rectum for her to spill all over the floor. Safety. CLICK… Sweetie heard her arm pistol read her thoughts; it had dry fired. She kept her eye on Lyra.

She glared at the weapon before looking back up at Sweetie. Golden like gold that was just so golden. Could she just pop one out to save for later? "Only enough food for one pony." Her voice was like a knife. "And don't think that pony is going to be you. Keep that gun in check and your emotions as well or I swear to the never ending sun that you will not survive. Clear?" Anger and more anger. Stuff from boxes onto shelves.

"Yes and yes. Try to keep yours the same way." Sweetie back talked the other mare before she made her way to the entrance of the underground home. Who was the stupid one in this war?

"You don't have to worry about that. You'd probably be dead before then."

Was that a bonding moment? The emptiness of confusion crept up into her head as she let Lyra move up the stairs to the ground above. Ground above? Such irony. TANGENT! Back on track. Lyra and Sweetie were getting along in this strange way. The topic of death and killing hovering over everything. Was this good or bad? But that bad feeling still rolled like thunder in her brain and in her breathing…short and quick. She had to be sure that she remained behind Lyra at all times from now on. Safety.

"Hey Lightweight, get your flank up here before I cover the hatch up and forget to come back afterwards. You'll become skin and bones…" Sweetie followed with trepidation in her limbs.

Lyra was leaning against the rickety wall of the shack, looking out and around Ponyville. She almost looked like a ninja. Almost. "You look really dumb doing that, you do realise that?" Sweetie hated ninjas.

"And you sound really stupid when you don't know things, yet refuse to take time and look around to gather information before bugging some pony with a bunch of novice questions like the location of the crayon box to a certain coloring book. I told you this before. I'm making sure that the ne'er-do-wells are all gone.

Sweetie walked out into the open for any pony to see. A smug little grin tightened her lips together. "I see no pony around. There, I did it much faster and easier than you would have."

Once again, she felt hooves. Oh, she's so dead! Spinning on her hooves as she almost jumped, Sweetie began to yell: "You can't tell that I-?" But Lyra quickly threw a right hook into the side of her face, dazing her for a few seconds. When she hit the ground, Sweetie groaned at the throbbing pain in her cheek, tasking a bit of blood from biting her tongue.

"Think of this as payback for before. I always think ten steps ahead of you and wait for the moment your guard is down. Don't try and overstep me again. You will ultimately die. This dominance game you play will kill you, stop playing it." The arrogance tickled Sweetie's ears the wrong way, but she couldn't do anything about it. Before the mare could do anything about retaliation for the retaliation, Lyra stood up, looking out around them with wide eyes close to that of fear. Before she gave a yell of primal thirst, and jerking around and smashing her head through the wall of the shack. Splintering wood fell everywhere but Sweetie was too horrified at what she had just seen to react. Just how crazy was this mare? Obviously, crazy enough to smash her head through a wooden board, and succeed. Maybe that retaliation wasn't so much a good idea. Lyra was a fighter.

The mare pulled her head out from the newly created hole in the busted wall. Blood was pouring down from a large gash in her forehead, which gave Sweetie some concern. What if she became infected and kills her in her sleep or something? "This is the only way for me to get back to reality. It's through pain." Lyra simply explained. Concern? Was companionship really so subconsciously important to a pony? Social interaction? That sounded so pathetic. Lyra simply began walking down the dirt road towards the forest.

Was Sweetie just like her? Just as crazy and selfish? Did she even care? Maybe a little, as she had never looked back on her life and actions so often before she met Lyra. She peered back down the road at the receding view of the mare, and at the dark backdrop of the Everfree forest, which overshadowed the countryside in all directions. While a dark and creepy feel of the buildings was on one level, this forest, its maw open for prey, was a whole other. Would there be a cockatrice in their like the last time she and her forever friends went in there?

She picked up her pace to catch up to the now silent Lyra. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Sweetie liked to think of it as a bit of a good thing, like the mare would act like a mother to her child. Berating them with destructive words, yet now shouting, to force the lessons into her brain. Get the diapers and the foal powder for her butt, but Sweetie would only shake her head stubbornly with a silencing pacifier stuck in her mouth. From being on her own and becoming a mare in the process, Sweetie didn't want that freedom to her own little world of thoughts, once again, Sweetie never noticed till later that what was left of the buildings of Ponyville was far behind her on the dirt path and the monster of the forest came ever closer. Wow, maybe 'momma' Lyra was right that she needed to pay attention more to her surroundings. The metaphorical foal powder was applied with the bitter scent in the air from it and the constructive feeling of the crinkling trousers over her rump.

"Fluttershy's cottage looks nice, doesn't it?" Lyra's silence was broken.

"What did you say?"

She heard Lyra sigh irritably. "Nothing."

Look around, you stupid! Lyra told you this! Right, Sweetie mentally punched herself in the gut so hard her stomach juices slurped up her esophagus, burning uncomfortably like vomit. But she wasn't a masochist. It was just that the world itself was.

Sweetie did look around and saw off to the side of the path, amazed that she had missed it, stood what was left of Fluttershy's cottage. Many of the once proud trees that hung the multi-layered bird houses had been chopped down and pulled away, leaving only the empty trunks behind. A bone dry stream bed snaked its way under the tiny bridge that led up to the half collapsed door. The top half just barely hanging on to stay up. Sweetie felt so much respect for that door, as it refused to let go from what it had been. The leaves of the roof were still just as green as ever, and gave a bit of color to the house now. But no animals were to be, understandably, seen as most of them were probably dead over the last thirteen years since she'd seen them last. On her rounds saying goodbye.

As if a whisper on the wind, a song floated into her mind that was sung by a quiet and breathy voice. Sweetie began to sing along softly.

Hush now, quiet now,

it's time to lay your sleepy head.

Hush now, quiet now,

it's time to go to bed.

Sweetie silently continued to stare at the home with a few tears straining her eyes.

Lyra's voice once again brought her out of those thoughts. "I remember that lullaby."

Sweetie felt those tears and quickly whipped them away. A peak of sadness of a mountain of nostalgia welled up inside Sweetie. "It's nothing. You want to get food, well the forest is over there. Let's go."


	8. B1: Ch7: Old Mother? Who Wasn't?

The shadow of the trees overhead cast a line that seemed to mark the ground where the forest began its cloak of plants over those who walked beneath their branches, from the unshaded part of the hills around Ponyville. The sun overhead never let up its onslaught, baking the dirt raw and the ponies even more. Dehydration was a possibility at these times of the day. But how the water would be nice to have now, what smart ponies they had been to not bring water - sarcasm, as this made them stupid. But to answer, it was probably the same thing that had made Sweetie not carry any during her trip to Ponyville. And a survivalist she was-sarcasm-just not anypony else. But these trees would take care of that for Sweetie and Lyra. Sweetie felt amazed at how even in times of huge change for many things that once had been still and unmoving, then quite possibly dead, was still considered dead as she had found this forest to look the very same as it did when she was younger.

Sweetie took a few steps underneath the boughs, and she could immediately feel the shade protecting her from the sun's rays. She wiped a hoof across her face to remove some sweat that had started to trickle down her forehead. She hadn't noticed it before. Her eyes felt heavy from all the dumb silent crying she did with her back turned to Lyra. How weak could she be to cry like this? She didn't do it when anypony she knew died in front of her eyes, like hunger-sickened ponies wiped clean to the bone, vertebrae all over the place, yet a memory from the past of the CMC could make her feel so...what's the right word? The best she could think of was emotional. But those emotions could get her killed by taking her mind off of the task at hoof, by showing others that she had a soul that could be crushed with the slightest bit of force. But Lyra just did it. She did it and Sweetie couldn't stop it from happening. She brought up a pain of remorse over a lost past.

Sweetie saw that the path the pair walked down was a large one that could fit three ponies walking side-by-side. The bushes were so thick, no pony could get through them for sure, so they were safe from any ambushes from the sides. Unless they could get through, in which one side doing the winning because dying just wasn't in Sweetie's agenda. Lyra was walking beside her, but was looking off in the opposite direction into the forest when Sweetie looked to the green mare. The pony must've felt something looking at her and she turned her head to Sweetie Belle and startled the poor younger mare, giving her a fright. See...emotions are just so...burdening!

Even in the lower light, Lyra's face looked so much older and more fragile than before, when Sweetie hadn't taken the time to look at the pony who had given her time in the small countryside town some meaning, other than remembering what she didn't want remembered anymore. No tears now. They are emotional. The pony had disgusting crow's-feet branching off of the sides of her eyes like the prongs of an old tree, shooting off in many directions. Toil-telling wrinkles, dotted here and there, were very prominent where the skin folded grotesquely into itself from her nostrils along her upper lip to dimples on the sides of her cheeks. The pony's dimples were elongated down her chin, and made her mouth look unattached, like a puppet's. The skin underneath the fuzz of hair looked so paper-thin and easy to cut. Just a little push and a point would disappear beneath it. It was even beginning to bruise a bit from smacking her head through that shed. Even her golden eyes looked so void of any real life, yet it looked unfought to show that troublesome emotion.

Sweetie thought back to the quilt in her saddlebag. Her throat clenched on itself, as she took a step to the left to keep Lyra and her ages away from her. Her childhood, though not itself, had become main-struck from the quilt with the letter sown into the fabric. She felt a sudden tremor rock in her womb, of fear of the future. She couldn't plan what would happen to her, other than the wrinkles folding along her face. Her head raced at that thought

"Sweetie?" A sickly concerned voice asked. She didn't even need to think to know that Lyra was the only other pony there. Unless it was Princess Celestia. A hoof came out of nowhere suddenly and waved in front of her eyes. Break it off! Snap it in half! Lyra looked worried. The tree-gut thin skin folded again, and Sweetie almost had to turn away from being grossed out. But not so far as to call death as an option. She was not Edgar Poe and didn't need to kill off another because of a body part gone awry. "Honey, what's wrong? You stopped walking and just stared off into nothing."

Lyra's hooves were right on her face. Their gross otherbodiness. They held her with complete affection as such from a mother to a child. Soft and comforting. Sweetie threw those...hooves off with her own. She looked to Lyra for a response but the mare only seemed upset, before she shook her head and continued walking down the road.

Why would she be upset? Couldn't she get a message of body language? She had no right to take offence to something that had been clear from the start. It was those damn emotions that took a pony's mind away. Why did she suddenly feel like a hypocrite? It was probably nothing.

After a short time further, the time passing in silence, the pair came across a berry bush filled with red and green goodies. Here's some food to eat, but why did they have to be red? Sweetie complained to herself. When a color comes around in this world, it just had to be red. She was getting tired of that color. It spilled from the bodies of the dead all the time too. But was that a real problem when it came to survival? Probably not, because…you gotta do what you gotta do, and what needed to be done now is a munching on these berries. Sweetie's stomach rumbled inaudibly, as the still silence continued onward between Lyra and herself.

Sweetie sat on her haunches and used her magic pick a few, floating them into her open, waiting mouth. They crunched like grapes, and exploded with juice that was bitter. Her head instinctively twitched to the acerbic taste before she could get used to it. The swallow was harder than she thought it would be before the food finally plopped down into her waiting stomach. It wasn't the greatest ever, the berries weren't all ripe, but they were better than starving and losing all that weight along with it. Sweetie took pride in the nice butt that ran in her family.

Looking over to the other side of the twigy things the bush had, was Lyra. Still silent besides the crunching of the vittles in her mouth with her head down in the bush. She wasn't using her magic. She must be depressed. Emotions are just plain, flat-out horrible, and this was proof enough. It made things far more difficult than they should be to begin with. Best to leave them alone or else.

"Get out of your head!" The silence ended when Lyra snapped angrily at Sweetie. It seemed she was upset over something. What would she be so upset over? Not being able to touch her? Was that it?

"What's your problem?" Sweetie half asked, if only to get Lyra to stop making everything so depressing. Her ally was being a pain in the rear and Sweetie didn't like it. She had to do something about it or she would cut off the crazy mare's head just to get some peace from the uncertainty. At least that way, there would be a new home for her. Well...maybe not, Lyra was the only one who knew about the ne'er-do-wells, keeping her alive in that regard would be far more profitable in the long run.

"There's no problem." She had a passive aggressiveness in her voice. It wilted a bit in the end and had a lack of confidence. "What makes you think that?" Her darkening eyes looked down at the ground, not looking Sweetie in the eye herself.

"I thought you were the smart one from all of the taunting and acting like you know everything there is to know about survival. You might know more about it than I do, but I'm far better at reading ponies than you are and will ever be." Oh buck did this feel great to finally be on top, and to feeling that she was on top had its own magical feeling. Lyra didn't have one over her this time. "Did you know that unicorns have a harder time controlling their magic when they are depressed? No power to unleash, it's all held within." Excitement welled up in her and it felt so good. But that hypocritical feeling came back again. Why?

Lyra glared daggers at Sweetie before she stomped over to a large slab of what looked rose granite and laid down against it, still facing towards Sweetie. "At least when I reprimand some pony, I do it for the action, not the pony themselves. Nothing that is any different…" She stopped her words suddenly and looked down at the dirt she laid in. She began to pick at the scab on her forehead, pulling the skin off, and releasing a single drop of blood that spilled in a trail down her forehead. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have acted so childish. I just thought I had upset you in a way."

Wow. Sweetie couldn't help but be surprised...get away! Being realistic meant to look at things logically. The logical thing to do in this world was to be strong and emotion is weak. Sweetie had told herself this so many times, it had become like a religion for her. She pushed the emotion down and only expressed her apparent annoyance with Lyra. "Well...ya did. Thanks for noticing finally! I don't like to be touched by anypony. So stop doing it!" Maybe a little bit of force would prove her point.

Lyra sighed and shook her head. "That's not what I had intended." Her voice was soft as milk leaves, but still held a bite in them. "At least you could've told me. Hugging is just the way I show my affection...no not affection - elation to somepony. Something I picked up from Bon-Bon."[i] Then keep it with Bon-Bon.[/i] Sweetie felt her anger rise. Clawing her. Devouring her. It held her aloft in the air and raided her mind.

"Just don't share that happiness with a hug. Smile. Even a forced smile for whoever's sake! I don't care. Just. Don't. Touch. Me." That should be enough about that. Drop the subject and move on with living as much as possible. Sweetie couldn't see anything wrong with what she wanted. She didn't feel it in her thoughts; and the grime on the gears of her mind. The subject made the mare do some really complicated things to make it okay, natural or not.

That sadness in Lyra's folding face came back again, but Sweetie had no qualms with doing what she did. "Fine. But why don't you like anypony touching you?" WHY! Why bring it up? Why not just impale her on a spike up the butt hole and through her esophagus in the process!? It was like that already with the past, a haunting for her. The past was the past, yet it dictated what happened in the future and the meaning of it all. How ponies would react was dictated as well by the very same. And Sweetie…

[center]~~~[/center]  
"You are a beautiful filly, Sweetie. Such a beautiful voice when you talk and sing."  
[center]~~~[/center]

A calm demon's voice whispered out from under the covers of the past, from where it had been meant to stay in obscurity. It plagued Sweetie with anger...and even fear. A bastard! Sweetie had rarely used such a word with anything, but such an evil hellion had come around, and it was the only descriptive word that really captured how she felt. Hooves were a nasty piece of anatomy that needed to be cut off, even her own. "None of your business." It wasn't, and nothing was going to change that! Instinctively, she went to grab her mane, but only felt the bit of fuzz left on the top of her head. Safety. It was...safety.

"Is it something to do with cutting off your mane?" Lyra pressed on through Sweetie's side-stepping. Getting in the way of that side-stepping, and not letting her pass. The walls closed in. She felt she was stuck in a corner. Taking deep breaths, Sweetie calmed herself and kept those pesky emotions away. In and out. Through the nose…Ahh, and out through the mouth.

Sweetie didn't have to answer Lyra. Why would she need to? If the answer was right there, all the mare had to do was think for a bit and look around for it to find it in front of her. Not taking her own advice, was she? No. She noticed off to the side of the pathway was a brilliant break in the foliage that surrounded them. Off of the main topic, and off of the main pathway. What a great metaphor it was. But a metaphor wasn't reality. It wasn't the way to go. But Sweetie was in pain. The hair that wasn't there anymore was tugged from the roots. Prod after prod on her backside. Thrust after thrust. The tears. The screams. The pleading to stop, but nothing was done, there was only more crying, more thrusting. Until there were no more tears anymore.

The berry bush still held a number of berries dotting its twigs. Sweetie used her magic to pull a large number of them off with ticks like a clock, while she pulled a small sealable carryall from her saddlebags. Dropping the berries slowly, one-by-one, the bag crinkled from the falling fruit as its sides bulged outward from its new contents. She then sealed the tote up by rolling the top of the bag down itself until it looked like a paper bag with a sandwich in it, all nice and cozy and not going to fall out at all. She carefully replaced it back into her saddle bag, opposite her quilt. Gotta be careful about that there.

"It probably wouldn't be a very good idea to take those along." Lyra interjected, drawing a glance from Sweetie out of the corner of her eye. Such thin skin the mare had. "What if they bleed through and stain your supplies?" A soft yearning welled up in Sweetie from where she didn't think she could feel.

Sweetie craned her head to look at her fully with her stare. She shrugged and replied: "Then I would have red supplies." Turning, the animal trail was right there. Just moving her legs and walking over to it would be enough. A small hike to clear her head. A nice hike would feel nice for her.

"Wait Sweetie! Lyra called from behind her. "Wait! I don't even know what's back there. You don't want to get lost in the forest."

Old mother hubbard. Mother. Mother in a way or not. But mother, Lyra wasn't. Was that unfortunate? "Shut up." Sweetie hissed through her clenched teeth. Both to herself and Lyra. She was still being nice about it though. She kept walking, and even saw a spider marching across a leaf about mouth level to her. She simply blew on it, making it tremble from the wisp of breath and shoot off into the air. Its web was the only thing that saved it from the ground below it. It should've died! She kept moving on, intentionally crushing the scurrying insect under her hoof and quickly wiping it off into the grass. Burning stomach bile clogged her throat but she swallowed it.

The other side of the bushes was a bit more compact with the plants growing on top of each other in very large forms. Sweetie was glad that she wasn't claustrophobic. She turned her head to look behind her to see that Lyra was close behind her. Was she going off of the 'mane' path too? "I can't just let you go out there alone. What if something bad happens to you?" Acting like it was a no brainer. "You should be ashamed of yourself for thinking that I was just going to let you go alone. But I don't know what's back there, so let's just put on our masks just to be safe and sure."

That was the first sensible thing Sweetie has heard from Lyra this whole time. They both used their magic and pulled the protective equipment over their heads. Lyra began picking at the new scab on her forehead again as well as the small scabs on her hoof from the rose bushes. "They itch."

Sweetie looked at the mare, unaffected. "Just don't get infected. I might have to kill you. Or I might not." Sweetie wasn't joking about that. She would kill her.

"I really hope you do that." Was all that Lyra returned before the pair went off into the unknown.


End file.
